


The Maze

by isthisusernametakenaswell



Category: The Trials of Apollo - Rick Riordan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-26
Updated: 2020-06-26
Packaged: 2021-03-03 21:36:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,275
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24922438
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/isthisusernametakenaswell/pseuds/isthisusernametakenaswell
Summary: A short fic based on Trials of Apollo. May not be completely accurate to the series or Greek mythology-I started writing this before I finished reading The Burning Maze. Just a little something before the last book in the series gets released.
Kudos: 1





	The Maze

The rain was pouring down, even harder now. The pudgy twelve-year old girl besides me, Meg, was desperately trying to shield herself from the rain with her flailing arms. The satyr, Grover, who was not a twelve-year old girl, but a nineteen-year old Lord of the Wild, followed in her lead. 

Meanwhile, I, the former god, Apollo, shivered in my drenched clothing. While I had hoped that Lester’s love handles and the blubber on his stomach would have provided me with some sort of insulation, I was dismayed to be proven incorrect. 

Again. 

Teeth chattering as the rain pelted relentlessly around me, I fell to my knees and lifted my arms up to the sky. 

“Father!” I cried out. “Does your cruelty have no bounds? I am your son, Apollo! I am a god! I demand an umbrella!”

The last request came out a bit whinier than I would have hoped it to be. Meg turned to look at me, droplets of rain pelting her rhinestone glasses. Her eyes narrowed. “Stop whining, Lester!” 

As if in agreement, a bolt of lightning struck the pavement in front of me, incinerating the grass and turning it into a clump of soggy black ash.  
Meg glared down at me, as if this was all my fault, which I found completely unfair. It wasn’t as if I had personally begged Zeus to humiliate me by throwing me off of Olympus. I opened my mouth to defend myself when I heard Grover bleat in panic next to my ear. 

“Lester! I mean, my lord, Apollo! There are nymphaea coming!” He pointed at the three wispy spirits that seemed to be floating towards us. They were all women, each of them with the same white tunic, sandals, long brown hair, and melancholic look on their faces. 

“Curse it all,” I muttered, shaking my fist at the sky again. I hated nymphaea. In fact, I had never invited one to any of my fabulous parties I held during the time of the Roman Empire, simply because they were bummers. They also hated me. 

I never understood why. All I did was kill their father, and he deserved it. No one said my ukulele was ‘pitchy’ and lived to tell the tale. 

Meg looked at Grover, then at the spirits approaching us. “What are those things?” she said, looking unconcerned. “The nympa-whatevers.” She pointed a finger at them, as if they were some sort of zoo exhibit rather than blood-thirsty water demons. 

“Ah, Meg, those are just nymphaea. Your standard water demon,” I said. “They despise me, of course, but as long as they don’t see me, I’m sure they will spare your lives. Besides, you have me, Apollo, a god, on your side-ow!” A small pebble fell from the sky and pelted me in the head. I yelped, loudly. 

Slowly, the nymphaea turned around to face us. Their bodies became, well, less wispy, as water swirled around their bodies, defining them. A look of murderous outrage replaced the melancholic look on their faces just seconds ago. 

“You!” the one on the right hissed. 

“Apollo,” the one of the left spat out, looking at me with revulsion. 

The one in the middle nodded. “Apollo,” she agreed. Her lips were curled in disgust. “You cannot hide from us. We will kill you in your hideous mortal form.” 

I self-consciously picked at a pimple on my cheek. Yes, I wasn’t exactly the same dashingly handsome god I used to be, but I didn’t think I was that hideous. 

Oh, gods. Stupid Lester and his stupid adolescent insecurity. I hated being mortal. 

The nymphaea bared their teeth at me, growling. A torrent of water flew from one of their outstretched claws and hit me squarely in the gut. With a whimper, I fell onto my rear, onto the hard concrete pavement. 

Then, they charged at me. 

I did what any god turned mortal would have done in the situation. I valiantly searched for an escape route for my two companions, and, having found what appeared to be a pot-hole, clambered into it. Bravely, I beckoned my charges to follow me, saving their puny mortal lives with my godly compassion. 

I did not, as Meg may tell you otherwise, scuttle backwards like a frightened turtle and accidentally drop down into an open pot-hole underneath me.  
With Grover and Meg by my side, the pot-hole lid firmly sealed, and the screaming nymphaea vowing blood and revenge on me from up above, I finally took a deep, calming breath. 

“Are you alright, Apollo?” Grover said, looking at me with concern. 

I took another breath. Perhaps, when I was a god, I would have incinerated the satyr right on the spot for asking me such an impetuous question. I was a god, and thus, I was invincible. Suggesting I had moments of weakness, or perhaps needed help - unthinkable. Especially from a mortal.  
Yet, it was a sign of my, dare I say it, tremendous personal growth, that I simply responded with a single grunt: “Yes.” 

I waited for Zeus to notice, and perhaps find it in his heart to pull me back up to Olympus. Nothing. I cursed silently in my head. 

Meanwhile, Meg had already started growing a thick vine of flowers, which snaked across the floor. 

“Where are we?” Grover asked, amazed. It was the first time we had been able to properly look around since we had arrived. Surprisingly, it was not a damp and filthy place, like most sewers. In fact, it was almost commercial. Blank brick walls that snaked forward into a tunnel. I peered further, but my eyes betrayed me. I only saw darkness. 

To my right, I saw Meg tense up. She was gripping onto the flower vine so hard that her knuckles were white. “We’re inside,” I thought I heard her mutter. 

Meg was not a normal child. Which is why I whirled around to face her, and said, in an embarrassingly high-pitched voice, “What do you mean by that?” 

Her face blanched. “We’re in the maze.” She paused to look at me. “From camp.” 

“Daedalus’ labyrinth?” I cried out. “Impossible! That was a completely random pot-hole I dropped into. How could it be that it was an entrance to the labyrinth?” I looked at the satyr, waiting for him to back me up. 

Instead, Grover looked panicked as well. “She’s right,” he breathed. “I’ve been in here before. It’s definitely the same labyrinth. It feels old. I can…I can smell the magic. It’s very strong, old magic.” He paused, bewildered. “But it looks completely different. It looks new. Almost as if it’s…hiding something.” 

“It might be,” Meg said nervously, touching the rings around her neck. 

I reached up, desperately scrabbling for the pothole that was once there-but my fingers brushed nothing but brick. 

“The pothole…it’s gone,” I said slowly, in horror. 

Grover nodded. “Once you’re in the labyrinth, well,” he swallowed, “you can’t get out the same way you came in.” 

“What?” I bellowed. “What kind of ridiculous rule is that?!” 

I pounded at the roof of the labyrinth. “Nymphaea! Come down here and kill me if you must!” 

Meg yanked my arm down. “Bad Apollo! Stop it!” 

I froze like some sort of weird animatronic. At the corner of my eye, I could see Grover, the satyr, smirk at me.

“Okay, so we’re trapped in this maze thing,” Meg said slowly. Something clicked in her mind. “I think I know what we’re supposed to do.” 

“What?” I demanded, sulking in the corner. 

“My stepfath-,” she stopped, swallowing. “Nero,” she began again, her voice shaking slightly. “He’s here.”


End file.
